At Night
by wbss21
Summary: For years, Batman has endured the Joker's madness, somehow maintaining his code of morality.  But when the lunatic strikes out to test the strength of those convictions, how long will it be before the Dark Knight can endure no more?  Rated M for violence.
1. The Escape

**Hey guys! So, I decided to start this story because I wanted to write another sort of **_**classic **_**Joker tale, having recently departed so radically from the character with some of my other work. I love a bad Joker first and foremost, and I love to write him that way. So, I hope you guys enjoy this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. And of course, reviews and feedback are always welcome and appreciated! So even it its negative, let me know what you think. Anyway, enough rambling. **

**The first chapter!**

**Enjoy!**

**At Night**

**Chapter 1: The Escape**

At night, it was quiet here. An encompassing silence, made heavy by unspoken tension, and unhidden fear.

No one wanted this shift.

No one wanted this ward.

To have to walk it, after dark.

There would be a draw, among orderlies desperate enough to work these hours.

Whoever came up short, it was they who were made to come here, in to the depths of the asylum, in to the long corridor housing the most treacherous of the place.

There were few of them. Four, exactly. Separated each by two, unoccupied cells.

Ronnie wished to God he hadn't drawn short.

But he had, and unless he wanted to lose his job, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

He would have to come down here, every hour, on the hour, and check each of the four cells, make sure the patient's were where they were _supposed_ to be.

But God did he hate it.

He hated how, because of Arkham's budget constrictions, at nightfall, here, they would dim the lights to almost nothing.

And how, for security reasons, a ward which housed only four patients boasted twelve cells, making it longer; more time consuming to walk. And how, because of this, and because of budget constrictions, the single bulb lamps, lining the ceiling above and spaced eight feet apart, barely illuminated the space at all, leaving patches of darkness between, and shadows clawing their way up the walls.

Ronnie found himself calculating in his head just how long it would take him to reach the end of the corridor, and how long it would take him to again reach it's beginning, go through the door, down the short hallway and in to the elevator, waiting to take him back up to safety.

The door leading out to the hallway, leading to the lift, would lock automatically when closed. Ronnie knew it was against procedure, but he would leave that door open when down here, wedging with his foot a piece of wood along its bottom, it serving as a stopper.

All the guys did it, besides.

Should one of the lunatic's escape, the last thing he wanted was to be caught fumbling with his keys, trying to get the damn thing open as they caught up to him.

If everything went smoothly, the whole thing shouldn't take more then five minutes.

He'd been working at Arkham a little over four months now, and had gotten this security detail exactly three times, including tonight.

Nothing had ever gone wrong for him.

He breathed deeply, praying to God it would stay that way.

Ronnie would check the cells by shining his flashlight through the small window of each door.

If he could see that cells occupant, than that meant everything was okay.

In Arkham, just before lights out, they would administer sedatives to the patient's here, which in turn meant that usually, he found them lying across their cots, sound asleep.

The same tonight had thus far held true.

Harvey Dent was laid over on his side, his one good eye closed. Ronnie could tell he was sleeping because he didn't at all react to the light shining in his face.

He found both Victor Zsasz and Waylon Jones in states similar. Both unconscious.

The last cell in the block was the one which turned Ronnie truly uneasy, along with every other orderly made to work this detail.

The Joker's cell.

The Joker rarely slept, though they administered him sedatives, the same as every other patient.

Yet they seemed never to have much effect, if any at all. His resistance to any form of drug was remarkably strong. No one knew why, exactly. The doctors there had guessed it had something to do with his physiology, which had been made unique, they also guessed, by his trip through a vat of chemical waste.

For this reason, at night, the Joker was usually kept in a straight jacket, which they would have him in through the morning, until he was brought to the showers. They would take him out of it then, and allow him some mobility afterwards, when they put him back in his cell without it.

Tonight though was different.

Earlier that afternoon, the Joker had taken to hurting himself, tearing at his own flesh and using the walls of his room to batter his own head and body against.

He'd wound up opening a gash along his hair line, severe enough that it required stitches.

They'd had to bring him to the infirmary for that.

He'd been hysterical when they went in to get him, thrashing so violently it took five men just to restrain him properly.

They hadn't bothered with the straight jacket, or cuffs even. He'd been having some kind of an episode and fighting too hard. It took each of the men every ounce of strength they had just to hold him still. Letting him go to put him in to some other restraint seemed like nothing but more work.

Getting him to the infirmary had been a bitch though as he pushed and pulled, stumbling along, losing his balance and falling several times to the ground, held up only by the hands of the orderlies gripping tight to his arms.

And he'd continued to make things difficult once they had him there, still restless and uncooperative as they'd forced him down on to one of the beds.

A nurse had scolded him, telling him if he didn't calm down, they weren't going to get the gash closed up and that it could potentially become infected.

But even that hadn't relaxed the madman, and it was only when he'd exhausted himself physically, fighting against the hold the orderlies had on him, that he at last settled, lying still and breathing heavy. The orderlies had themselves taken the opportunity to let go their grip, they too worn out from the struggle.

Even still, by the end of it, he'd again started up, and so they'd brought him back to his cell, strapping him by his wrists and ankles, flat to his cot, and one over his chest, rendering him immobile, ensuring he wouldn't again injure himself.

Ronnie always paused before shining his light in to the Joker's cell, fearful of what he might find.

The first time he'd gotten this detail, the lunatic had been sitting upright, staring forward at the door's window, his expression blank, his eyes unblinking. And Ronnie remembered, although the Joker had been looking right at him, right in to his face, it had seemed like he couldn't see him at all, like he was looking right _through_ him.

He thought maybe it was because the Joker hadn't shown any reaction towards him. He hadn't smiled, or frowned. It was almost like he'd been sleeping, only with his eyes open, wide and intent.

Ronnie could feel the hairs on his arms stand on end, just at the memory of it.

The Joker made his gut clench tight. The _strangeness_ of him was something the orderly could never get from his mind.

It didn't help, hearing all the horror stories of the madman's many escapes. Sometimes, Ronnie had been told, he would just disappear, slipping out quietly and unnoticed, in to the night. Other times though, he would make a show of it. And the ensuing bloodbath when he would, that was something no one ever spoke of, not in any kind of detail.

No one ever knew how he got out, not until well after the fact. The asylum would then take measures, to ensure it didn't happen again. But sometimes they never figured out his method. And it would leave the security director in a tizzy, wondering what it was the Joker could see that he couldn't.

Everyone else, it just left scared.

It was early still, eleven o'clock, and only Ronnie's second walk through tonight.

The first time he'd looked in to the Joker's cell, he'd been lying there, his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, his lips pulled in to a faint smile.

The orderly never looked for more then the few seconds it took to make sure of this room's occupancy.

He inhaled a breath, bracing himself, and then stepped to the window, lifting his flashlight and shining it in.

The relief was palpable when he saw the madman, still strapped to his cot, his head this time turned on its side, his eyes closed.

Ronnie let go his breath, his head dropping along with his light.

He just had to make it to six in the morning, and another orderly would take over his shift then.

/

As the hands on his watch drifted towards 3, Ronnie sighed audibly.

Just a few hours more.

As he rode the lift down to the asylum's lowest level, the sixth time that night he'd done so, as the previous five times, he again was struck by the silence of the ward.

Arkham's upper levels were a sharp contrast. Its uppermost floor saw staff moving freely about, talking amongst each other. And the low to mid-risk patients weren't sedated at night, like the ones here were, so it wasn't unusual for them to also be engaged in some form of conversation, either with themselves or each other.

As it went lower, the hum of the elevator seemed amplified in the silence.

It didn't seem to matter how many times he did this, Ronnie could never get used to the dread which crept up in him when he stepped from the lift, the feeling only intensifying as he entered the ward and made his way down it, towards its end.

Things went smoothly, as they had on all his previous walkthroughs, moving from one cell to the next, finding their occupants in much the same state as he had before.

And yet, still, as he came upon the Joker's, that same numbness returned to his fingers, a rush in his stomach as though he were falling.

The voice in his head reasoned with him that, had nothing so far happened, it was unlikely to happen now. But it did little to calm his nerves.

With reluctance, he stepped before the door, starting to bring his light up, ready to check for what he was paid to check for and get out as quickly as possible.

The drop of his heart was immediate and sudden as his eyes scanned over the illuminated, barren cot, its restraining straps hanging loosely off its sides.

Ronnie's gaze moved quickly over the entirety of the small space, finding nothing and no one.

It was some sort of delusion, he was sure, his sight playing tricks on him as over and over again, he looked from left to right and back again.

But as realization dawned, as he came to understand this was real, that the Joker _wasn't_ in his cell, that he _wasn't_ strapped to the cot, as he had been before, Ronnie thought he could feel himself starting to hyperventilate.

"Oh Jesus…" He breathed quietly, stepping back. He spun around, looking down the corridor, seeing nothing.

He could scarcely believe it was happening. That it was happening to _him_.

Procedure somehow ran through his mind.

Each orderly was instructed, when faced with a situation where they thought an inmate had escaped from their cell, to make well and _sure_ that was the case before telling anyone else. It did no one any good to throw the entire staff in to a state of panic over nothing.

This made things suddenly complicated. Ronnie would have just left, then and there. That was his initial instinct.

But if he was somehow wrong, if the Joker was in his cell and he told everyone he wasn't, than he was for certain out of a job. A job he'd worked hard to obtain and a job he _desperately _needed.

Again he brought his light to the cells door window, shining it in, and still he could see nothing.

He was going to have to open it up, he realized. He didn't have a choice. Not unless he wanted to go back on unemployment, and then Maria would never let him hear the end of it. She'd threatened to leave him, should that ever happen again. He couldn't allow that.

The quiet seemed more now. Folding in on itself, creating its own kind of noise, and the shadows became suddenly darker. He turned again, peering down the corridor, certain he'd heard something.

But still, there was nothing.

His hands were shaking, he noticed, and his mouth had gone dry.

He swallowed painfully, reaching for the ring on his belt loop, feeling the metal of the keys along his fingers.

"Okay Ronnie. Come on…" He told himself quietly.

He groped along his other hip, feeling the hard plastic of his nightstick, assuring himself it was there.

He'd already spent nearly twice as long down here as he normally would, and inwardly he cursed himself for the hesitation.

His hand was growing sweaty around the flashlight, and closing his eyes for a brief moment, he told himself just to do it. To stop screwing around and get it done with.

So he reached again to his key ring, unclipping it from his belt loop before finding the correct one, taking it between his fingers.

Slowly he licked his lips, feeling the dryness of them against his tongue.

Glancing once more down to his nightstick, reminding himself he had it, he moved the key forward, listening as it slid loudly in to place.

He exhaled, the breath shaking.

And again he scolded himself, telling himself to stop stalling, reminding himself he was armed, that he was a grown man and could handle himself.

His hand still on the key, he began to turn it, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

And then there was the click, and his eyes squeezed shut, as if expecting something horrible to happen.

But as several seconds past without incident, his lids began to lift, and he stared forward at the door.

"Okay…" He whispered, swallowing hard, trying to calm himself.

Pulling the key free, he pocketed it, along with the ring, before cautiously reaching forward, pressing his hand flat against the door and pushing it in, holding his breath as he did so.

It creaked open, the noise seeming unbearably loud and immediately, Ronnie reached for his nightstick, grasping its handle while lifting his flashlight, shining it in, illuminating a single strip of the darkened room.

As before, he could see no one.

He wanted so badly to just turn and run.

But he'd gotten this far, and nothing had happened.

If he was right though, oh God if he was _right_, and it looked so far like he was, that meant the Joker was running somewhere around the asylum. For all Ronnie knew, he could be on the upper floors now, _killing_ people.

Oh Jesus.

Hesitantly he stepped forward, pushing the door open the rest of the way with the head of his light, stepping through.

His hands were shaking badly now, and he moved the beam in to the upper right and left corners, the corners he couldn't see from the outside.

Nothing.

There was only…

"It's alright." A soft voice spoke from behind him.

He spun around and for the briefest of moments, he saw the ghostly pale face of the Joker.

And then he dropped his flashlight, it cracking against the concrete floor, the beam sputtering for a moment before going completely out.

Ronnie's eyes had gone wide, his mouth hanging open, a scream seemingly trapped in his throat as clumsily he fell backwards.

"Y-You…" He sputtered, tripping over the words.

"It's alright." The Joker repeated, his voice so quiet Ronnie barely could hear him. "

The orderly continued to stumble away, and when he felt his back hit a wall, that was when his eyes went to the still open door and he realized the greatness of his folly. He should have gone for the _exit_. Oh God, why hadn't he? And now he'd backed himself in to a corner.

His gaze went back to the Joker, barely illuminated from the dim lights outside the cell.

His eyes seemed to glimmer in the dark.

And then Ronnie could see him grin, and oh Christ, he hadn't ever realized how _tall_ the lunatic was.

"Y-you stay aw-way f-from me!" He practically screamed, his hand tightening around the nightstick. "L-let me pass!"

The Joker's smile seemed to widen, the light reflecting off his teeth.

"But wasn't it _you_, my dear,who came first upon _me_?" He answered back. "And so quickly you wish to leave?"

"L-let me pass!" Ronnie again screamed, sounding almost hysterical.

And now the Joker chuckled, low, and the orderly could feel himself grow cold at the sound.

"How _amusing_ you are!" He said brightly. "But you are _expected_. To receive you is no burden upon me, and to speak plainly, I think I would feel offense, should you continue in this persistence of yours."

And then he stepped forward, out of what little light there was, and he looked like nothing so much as an apparition.

"So please, _stay_…" He went on. "And allow for me to finish telling you the truth of the world."

Again he stepped forward, and Ronnie pressed himself further against the wall.

"Stay back!" He cried. "I'm warning you!"

"In _dreams_ we are lost." The madman continued, as if he hadn't even heard the orderly. "And beyond those dreams…" He gestured theatrically, sweeping his arm out and forward. "We are _alone_. We are falling. Seeking desperately for purchase. For something not _there_. Do you know? Do you know of what I speak?"

Ronnie stared back, wide eyed and mute.

"But of course, dear…" The Joker continued. "Suffering is born of denial. Of a refusal to accept what _is_. And I can see you are a sufferer. So perhaps, no…" He sounded almost disappointed.

And then he moved closer.

"S-stay away!" The orderly chocked out, his hand gripping the handle of his club and pulling it from his belt.

The Joker frowned, though in the dark, it couldn't be seen.

"Oh, no." The madman breathed. "Don't… Don't do that."

"Stay away I said!" Ronnie screamed, brandishing the club wildly.

The Joker was so suddenly upon him that he barely had time to lift the billy, swinging it out blindly.

And as he did, the lunatic met it, catching the heavy stick in his hand, tearing it easily from the orderly's fingers.

Violently he threw it to the ground before reaching out, grabbing hold of Ronnie's shirt, pushing him back against the wall, jamming his forearm against his throat and pinning him there.

"Earlier…" The Joker began, leaning in close until his face was mere inches from the orderly's own, his voice now dropping to a whisper. "Earlier, I had myself _removed_ from this room." He chuckled deeply. "It's amazing, the things one can accomplish when no one is there _looking_."

There was a flicker of movement in the periphery of Ronnie's vision, and as his eyes moved to it, he saw, in the Joker's hand, the hand attached to the forearm now pressing painfully against his throat, there was a paper clip. And he realized suddenly how the madman had escaped his restraints, his heart sinking to his stomach as it dawned on him just how thoroughly he and everyone else had been _played _by the lunatic.

"You see…" The Joker leaned closer still, speaking softly against the orderly's ear. "It is a matter _most_ simple. One of proper _assessment_. The _capacity_ of the mark, their probable reaction when faced with a kind of situation, and knowing indeed what will drive them to it. You, Sir, you were so very easy to read. No real fun at all. Still, I made certain it was _you_ who drew shortest tonight."

Ronnie's eyes went wide.

The _whole thing_ had been a set up. From the Joker's hysterical episode, earlier that afternoon, to his being strapped down and then breaking free, hiding in the room's darkness, in the corner closest to its door. Fooling him in to believing he'd escaped. _Knowing_ he was desperate enough to risk making sure.

Christ, right down to his drawing shortest straw!

Ronnie's mind raced to determine how he'd done that, nausea taking over when he realized he couldn't.

The Joker pulled back slightly, his mouth stretched to a grin, and even in the dark, the orderly could see the gleam of his large, white teeth.

"The others, certainly, would have sufficed. _Undoubtedly _they would have. But you, Mr. Harrison, _you_ were ideal. The _perfect_ blend of inexperience and circumstance, your course of action practically forgone. And I must thank you, my dear, I must thank you for doing exactly as I knew you would and _opening that_ _door_."

"Y-you'll n-never make it o-out of here." The orderly stuttered, his eyes now huge with fear.

The Joker suddenly threw his head back, laughing unrestrained, and Ronnie felt as if all the hope had at once been drained from him.

"But I already _have _dear." He said. "It's only that you have yet to realize it."

And then, suddenly, he pressed his forearm harder against the orderly's throat, his expression falling stoic.

He again leaned close, whispering against Ronnie's ear.

"It's alright." He said. "I promise you it is."

Ronnie could feel the pressure against his wind pipe, his breath suddenly restricted.

His eyes bugled slightly.

"Do you see?" The madman continued. "Do you see that it's alright?"

"N-no. No. Wh-what are you? What are you!"

The Joker laughed softly.

"A man, as you are a man."

"Y-you're no man…"

"Oh, I am! I am! But a man not gripped by delusion, as you are. A man possessed of truth. Everything you wish to escape, but never can…" He said. "I am its harbinger. The emptiness in any promise of hope, the absence of meaning, the blatant falsity in notions of _good _and _bad_,_ wrong _and _right_…" He smiled suddenly. "… The inevitability of your own demise."

/

Ronnie had made little noise, the Joker thought, as he stepped from the cell, out in to the corridor. That was how it was, when you crushed the larynx and strangled a man to death.

And that, of course, had been his intent. Better not to attract the attention of the other three. He didn't at all feel like listening to their entreatments, begging that he let them out.

Within silence, he moved, fading in the shadows, materializing once more as he passed beneath the dim glow of the lamps above.

Down here was grey, the white light reflecting off the surface, creating on everything a kind of blue tinge.

The Joker stopped, his eyes sliding away, to his right.

They gleamed, dark and ready, his skin so pale so as to seem almost translucent, the blue of his veins obvious.

He appeared himself as this place did.

Stark white in darkness.

His eyes and hair so deeply green, they looked black. And as his mouth stretched wide and open, in to a grin, the white of his teeth stood out sharply against the black of his gums, and that of his lips.

He would wear color on those, a bright scarlet to turn blood red when mixed with so tenebrous a hue.

This was his favorite part.

His long, bony fingers curled loosely around the nightstick. His other hand held the keys, jingling them lightly as he stepped through the corridors exit, advancing towards the lift.

He reached out, pressing the call button, listening intently at the loud ding which sounded, and then the noise of the things gears as it moved down the shaft.

Violence filled his mind.

His eyes closed.

This was his favorite part.

The elevator came to a halt. The doors parted, rickety and old.

His eyes snapped wide, flashing with dreams of death, and the sorrow of living.

"You're so timid darling. So unsure." He said, stepping in.

"Tell me then. What is it you're afraid of?"

He turned, facing the doors.

"Oh, but that's an easy one, isn't it? I can tell you myself! Would you like that? Would you like for me to tell you?"

His lips pulled back over his teeth, smiling long.

"The horror of it. The uselessness of your own existence."

The grin broadened more as the doors slid closed before him.

/

"You are unkind dear." The Joker whispered, stepping out on to the main floor of the asylum. "So very unkind."

"And I am as you. Cruel as you… But they understand so little."

He laughed softly, moving down the hallway, the lights here barely brighter then they had been below.

Around the corner ahead lay a security booth.

There would be a guard manning it.

/

"Lucyyyyyyyyyy!" Ricky Ricardo's agitated voice sounded lowly from the tiny television set.

Winston chuckled lightly, reclining back in his chair, the thing creaking in protest against his weight.

He heard the door from behind him open.

Confusion crossed over the guard's features, and he glanced down at his watch, bringing the powdered doughnut he'd been holding to his lips, taking a large bite from it.

"You ain't up for another half hour Perez." He said, his words jumbled by the food in his mouth.

He heard the door close. A moment later and he heard the sound of its lock, sliding in to place.

His brow furrowed.

"Hey, _Perez_, I said…" He began as he turned to look back over his shoulder.

The guard froze, his eyes shooting wide, a rush like falling dropping down through his stomach.

The Joker smiled.

"Hello there." He said.

Winston stared, his mouth agape, before he seemed to snap from some paralyzing trance, turning and throwing his hand out towards the alarm.

The Joker stepped forward, fast, bringing the nightstick up in an arc before slamming it down against the guard's fingers, crushing the digits along the table top. A sickening crunch sounded, followed quickly by Winston's chocked and gargled scream.

"Ah, ah!" The madman chided, waving a long finger through the air.

"M-m-my h-hand!" The guard slurred, having dropped his doughnut to the floor, now gripping weakly his broken fingers. "Y-you b-broke m-my hand!"

The Joker stepped close and around him, looking down at the man with an expression of puzzlement.

Winston looked back up, following, his eyes like saucers, full of fear, a heavy sweat having broken out across his skin, his breathing now heavy and labored.

The lunatic regarded him a moment longer before laying the billy down on the desk and, suddenly, his large, thin hands shot out, grabbing tight to the chairs armrests.

Winston flinched at the movement, his eyes closing in panic, as though that might save him.

He felt his seat tugged forward, him with it.

He shrank back instinctively, his eyes still camped shut.

His throat tightened and a sort of numbing, weakened sensation ran down his limbs as he felt the Joker's fingers curl round his jaw.

His grip seemed impossibly strong.

"Open your eyes for me." He heard the lunatic's unnervingly soft voice.

But terror had gripped him, keeping him frozen.

He felt the pressure along his face increase ten fold, threatening to crush it.

"Open your eyes doll." Again he heard the Joker's voice command, as calm as before.

His jaw felt as though it was on the verge of breaking, and slowly, his lids lifted, squinting as if invaded by unexpected light.

The Joker's face was directly before him, inches away, staring intently in to his own.

Winston felt unable to look away then.

The madman was unnatural. Surreal. His skin lacking any real color, any real hue.

Like someone dead.

His eyes were glassy. Contrasted by vibrant, green irises, the color bizarrely rich, and clean.

Yet the _whites _of his eyes, they seemed somehow polluted, dirty. Yellow and red, as if he hadn't slept a single moment in his life. Adding to that image was the skin around them, dark by comparison with the rest of his face.

But above all this, the guard felt himself pinned by the laser intensity of the lunatic's gaze.

How he seemed never to blink, his focus so perfect, so unwavering, it seemed impossible it ever would break.

There was a knowledge behind the Joker's eyes. A kind of special awareness. Like he saw something everyone else found themselves blind to, either unable know or acknowledge or understand. Some great secret of the universe, one _he alone _was privy to.

Winston was transfixed, barely noticing as the lunatic's other hand came up along his face, almost caressing his cheek as it moved around, gripping him firmly behind the ear, his long fingers curling around the base of his skull.

He smiled now, faintly.

"The infinite of nothing." He whispered, his voice soothing, reassuring. "There isn't anything to fear."

Confusion flashed in the guard's eyes, and his mouth hung open, wanting to speak, to ask.

But he never was able to, as the last thought to pass through his mind was that the pressure he felt was suddenly more. Much more.

And then there was nothing.

The crack had been audibly satisfying, the Joker's grin widening at the sound, and the vibrations which ran up through his hands as the spine splintered and broke apart.

Winston had gone limp, and he let the guard fall backward, in to his seat, his head turning unnaturally.

"Good dreams now." The madman spoke, brushing a lock of Winston's disheveled hair back from his face.

/

The kitchen was dark, the lights here shut off.

At night, in this area, operation ceased.

Still, as he past it by, his reflection gleamed dully off the stainless steel of the refrigerator, a vague shadow, undefined at its edges.

He moved on, towards the island, his eyes falling to the cabinetry below.

They kept the knives locked down there.

His fingers twitched.

His eyes lifted, sliding right.

Against the wall there hung the keys.

Towards them he reached his hand, snatching them up.

And then he crouched down, leaning forward on to the balls of his feet, his fingers curling round the countertops edge.

With his free hand he picked out the key, sliding it in to the lock.

He smiled at the click.

That smile grew as he swung the door wide, and before him he saw the block, the blades handles sticking from it.

He took hold the chefs knife, pulling it free.

His tongue moved quick over his teeth, and then he brought the knife's edge to it, dragging it cross the surface.

It cut, clean, the pain stinging and sharp, the taste of copper fast filling his mouth.

"Heeeee…"

He grinned.

Perfection.

/

He'd killed Perez quickly, stepping up behind him, just as he was discovering Winston, pressing the blade to his throat and slicing it wide.

He'd bled out in a matter of seconds.

"From time to time, you will find, if you look beyond the sun, a place of black, and dark and cold, and of another soul, not one."

The Joker sang, pushing the tip of the knife in to the metal surface of the desk, watching intently at the tiny flecks of paint which ground away as he pressed harder.

"Hmmm." He smiled, bringing his gaze down. "What say you Perez?" He looked to the rapidly cooling corpse, than frowned. "Oh come now! Don't be so glum! If you're _this_ bothered by life's every _little_ disappointment, then surely you never smile. And…" He bent down, pressing his index fingers against the corners of Perez's mouth, pushing them up. "You're never fully dressed… without a smile. Heh."

He pulled his hands away, the mouth again falling flat, and he regarded the dead guard a moment longer.

He held the knife still, against his palm, his middle, ring and pinkie wrapped tight round its handle.

And then he flicked his wrist, the blade spinning around, and he slammed it with force, down in to Perez's face.

Blood splattered upwards, small droplets of it spraying against his jaw.

He tore it free.

"I don't think I like your attitude Perez." He murmured, wiping the blade against the guard's uniform.

Pushing himself to his feet, he glanced about the booth, as though searching for something.

"Heeee…"

He shrugged.

And then he started to whistle, the boogie woogie bugle boy of company B, making his way back out to the hall.

/

Dr. Hill had left his office door unlocked.

Apparently, the psychiatrist determined a password on his computer sufficient enough a security measure.

That might be, the Joker mused, if it weren't so obvious what the password was.

But than, Dr. Hill was obvious in so _many_ ways.

Not the least of which being his inflated sense of self-worth.

And with that sense, the Joker knew, came the delusion of being invincible. Of being untouchable.

Oh, he felt very sure though, by sunrise, the doctor's confidence would be shaken. In the very _least_, it would be shaken.

The madman's fingers tapped lightly over the keyboard.

3.3

The password was Dr. Hill's finishing percentile from his graduating class.

It was something in initial sessions he would announce to all his patients, guising it as an offer of reassurance, a testament to his credentials, and so his ability to affectively treat them.

"You're in good hands." He would say. "I promise I'm going to help you."

He would do this only once.

And then move on.

But it was in the _way_ he relayed this information which exposed the real reason for its divulgence.

He was bragging.

It was a point of pride.

Something which made him feel better, superior, more deserving.

"You think yourself _special_ Doctor."

The Joker grinned at the glowing screen.

And then he began to type.

A note for his self-proclaimed savior.

"_It has been nothing short __sheer __delight, our sessions together Dr. Hill. And to their continuation, I look forward. But on the outside, you see. Of these confining walls, I've grown tired. And as you should now well know, I've taken my leave of the place. _

_And so, until next we meet, dear Sir._

_My best regards_

_J_."

That would be there for him, when he came here later this day.

The Joker's eyes caught sight of light, pouring in through the ajar door.

He stood from the desk, making his way towards it, standing flat against wall at the entrances side.

The light drew nearer.

"That's weird." The voice of a man.

As soon as he took a step in, and the Joker had reached out, taking the orderly by the arm and dragging him through the rest of the way.

"Wha…!"

"Hiya." The lunatic said, throwing him against the wall, grinning down at him wide. "Oh, you're perfect. Perfect indeed."

The man's eyes went huge in terror.

"Oh Jesus…"

/

The orderly had struggled mightily, and the guards at the head of the asylum had begged him not to slit his throat.

Being a gentleman, he had obliged, burying the knife in the man's chest.

Their shock had caused a delay in their reactions, their pistols hung uselessly from their fingers. He had taken the opportunity to push the orderly from him and turn, bursting through the double doors of Arkham's front entrance.

The grass sang as his feet flew through it, and mad laughter rose up from his throat.

They were behind him, but too far now for it to matter.

The searchlights would do them no good.

The grounds were dark, vanished in to easily. And he knew the patterns of those beams, knew where they would turn, and when.

And so he reached the wall undetected.

And with his long arms and great height, he leaped from a crouch, going for its edge, latching tight to it with his fingers.

With some struggle, he hauled himself up.

He shouldn't have been able to, he thought, but power of the will and all that.

Throwing himself on to its top, he rolled from it, and for a brief moment, hung over the opposite side before letting go, dropping to the ground, a good three feet.

The area around was woods, a single road running through its middle.

But through the trees, he knew his way to the city, and there was ideal. For at night, the woods were pitch, only sometimes vague rays of the moons light escaping through the canopy.

Others would become lost, following him in.

And it was he would find them, he the last person they would ever see.

He lifted his face towards the sky, his eyes burning brightly at the stars.

The sirens went off behind him.

He smiled.


	2. Recruit

**Chapter 2: **

There were three of them, trying to pick the lock at the back entrance of an electronics store.

He hated coming upon this sort of thing.

Stupid kids who really needed nothing more then a lesson in manners.

It was a waste of his time.

Still, he had to stop them. To not do so would be reckless.

And crime was crime.

He swooped down from the roof top on which he'd been perched, coming in on them silently, from behind, landing squarely in the middle between them.

They were shocked, stumbling backward.

It was all he needed.

The first man's feet, he swept out from under him, knocking him to his back.

And from his crouch he came up and around, smashing the heel of his foot against the next man's jaw.

He went down, hard.

He wouldn't be getting back up.

The third man tried to run.

Batman aimed and caught a rope round his ankles, pulling the cord taught. The man fell, face first to the pavement.

He said nothing to them as he finished tying them together, taping a piece of paper to one of their shirts, a hand written note, explaining the situation.

As he stood, the police frequency in his cowl crackled to life.

"Be advised, reports of breakout at Arkham Asylum. All available are units ordered to converge at the site."

He froze, his hands clenching tightly to fists.

"Damn…"

/

"Gordon…"

The Commissioner spun around, his eyes startled.

"Jesus!" He breathed, holding a hand over his chest. "Give an old man a break, will ya?"

The shadowed figure said nothing to that, standing stone still.

"Is it him?" He asked in his raspy, hard edged voice.

Gordon gave a nod.

"'Fraid so."

"How many?"

The Commissioner sighed.

"Four. Two orderlies and two guards. One by asphyxiation. Another one's neck he broke. The other two died from knife wounds. Stabbed one in the chest. The other's throat he slit."

Gordon shook his head.

"I asked them where he could have gotten a knife. They said it must have been from the kitchen."

"What about security footage?"

"There isn't any, really. Except just before he left. Through the front doors for Christ's sake! He knew where the camera's were and avoided them, apparently. No one even knew he'd gotten out of his cell until he came crashing in to the lobby, holding an orderly hostage."

"Do they know how he got out?"

The Commissioner shook his head.

"No. They think he somehow got one of their men to open up his door. And you know how that goes…"

The older man turned, taking the glasses from his face and massaging the bridge of his nose.

"The whole thing's a disaster, as usual. It seems like that nut job's getting out every five minutes these days. Its like, no matter what precautions they take, they can't keep him in. I sometimes wonder what the point is in locking him up at all. If he's just going to keep getting out…"

He turned back, and Batman was gone.

/

"Read em' and weep." Tony held out his cards.

A royal flush.

"Man, _screw _this." Frankie threw his own down, clear disgust crossing his features.

Tony just laughed, pulling the pile of cash in towards himself.

"Sorry man. Them's the breaks. You shoulda' folded like the rest of these pussies here."

"Whatever…" Frankie mumbled, resting his cheek against his palm, turning slightly away.

"Who you callin' a pussy man!" Matt asked, shoving Tony's shoulder.

"Who gives a shit." Roy sulked. "We need some _real _cash. We ain't had any work in _months_."

"Well did'ja hear?" Tony said.

Everyone looked to him.

"What?"

"The Joker. He just busted outta Arkham."

Roy's face twisted up.

"So?"

"So, I hear the guy pays like, _huge_ money."

"Yeah? Well I hear the guys a complete whack job. Dudes crazy man. Come on." Roy countered.

"So are half the freaks we've worked for!" Tony argued. "What, you don't remember the Riddler?"

"It ain't the same man." Roy answered.

"That's true Tony. The Joker's fucked up. If you heard some of the stories I have..." Matt jumped in.

"Yeah, well, I just thought, if you guys were interested in makin' some real money…"

"Forget it man." Roy cut him short. "Guys a total psycho. I ain't gettin' killed, workin' for his ass."

Tony began to chuckle.

"Whatareya? Scared of him?" He jostled. "Com'on Roy, what are you? 6'10" or somethin'?"

"6'11", and _no_, I ain't scared. I could take care a' that clown."

"Then what?" Tony pushed.

"Nothin'!"

Tony grinned.

"Aww, I think Roy's scared boys."

"I ain't scared!"

"Yeah you is! Look at you! Practically shakin' in your boots. Haha. Whatsamatter Roy? Scared a' the big, bad clown?"

Roy's face twisted in to a scowl.

"I'd kick his ass!" He spit.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!" Roy insisted. "I wish that nut job was here right now, so I could beat his ass for ya!"

"Really?"

"Yeah really! I'd ring his scrawny freakin' neck!"

"Uh, guys…"

"Okay Roy. If you say so." Tony laughed.

"Don't fuckin' laugh man! I'm tellin' you! I'd make that freak wish he'd never been born!"

"Uh, _guys_!"

"What man!" Roy turned towards Matt, clearly agitated.

Matt's eyes were round as saucers, and he lifted a trembling hand, pointing to behind them.

Roy stared at him, confused, and then he noticed everyone else suddenly held the same, frozen expression, looking past him.

And then he noticed how quiet the place had become. How all the raucous talking had ceased.

Slowly he began to turn in his seat, and was met with someone's torso, clad brightly in a yellow waistcoat.

His eyes began to move up, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the unnaturally pale, exceedingly thin face staring back at him, smiling wryly.

He felt at once paralyzed.

"Hello." The Joker said, his voice surprisingly soft.

Roy's mouth hung slightly open, but no words would come.

"Roy. I want you to stand up for me Roy."

"W-what?" He managed to stutter.

"Did I misspeak? I don't think so."

"Y-you want me t-to…?"

"_Up_ dear. Stand _up_. Let me have a better look at you."

For several, long seconds, Roy just say there, frozen.

A sudden flash of displeasure passed over the Joker's features.

"First impressions Roy. Yours, it must be stated, is thus far _less_ then impressive."

That got the man standing.

The Joker smiled wide.

"Goodness gracious, you _are_ tall!" He exclaimed, looking up. "What are they feeding to you kids today?"

Roy didn't answer, his face lined in obvious stress.

"Well alright Roy. I want you to hit me."

"W-what?"

The Joker sighed.

"I'm going to have to insist you stop pretending you've misheard me when I know perfectly well you haven't."

"You want me to h-hit y-you?" Roy stuttered.

The Joker nodded.

"Indeed. You seemed quite adamant in your abilities. I think I should like to put those abilities to the test."

Roy looked baffled, a confusion which slid quickly in to the pain of fear.

"So give me your all Roy." The lunatic continued. "Because if you don't… if I think for a moment you're holding back on me…" Suddenly he reached up, placing his hands on the taller man's shoulders, dusting them as though to free them of unwanted particles. "I'll kill you."

He inspected the shoulders for some seconds and, seeming satisfied, brought his eyes back to Roy's.

He smiled.

And then he stepped back.

"Your performance is much anticipated." He said, holding his arms wide. "I await with _bated_ breath."

Roy's head spun with sickness, and for a moment, he was sure he would faint.

The thought then occurred to him that maybe he was being played the fool and he spun around.

"A-alright guys. Real funny." He started. "W-where'd you find this guy?"

But as he took in their expressions, still filled with absolute dread, his own hope quickly faded and, slowly, he turned back, the thin madman continuing to bore in to him with his vibrant eyes.

He swallowed hard.

"Y-you're gonna kill me…" He whispered out, his mouth at once dry.

The Joker frowned.

"I never made any such claim." He answered. "I believe there was a condition placed on that threat. But please my dear, time is _short_. You understand. If you fail to comply with what I've asked of you, I'll have to assume the taking of orders is not one of your strengths."

Roy's eyes went wide.

"N-no. No! I c-can take orders! Ju-ust ask around! I'm real good at…"

The Joker waved a dismissive hand, cutting him short.

"_Show_. Don't tell."

Again, Roy swallowed, the action now painful.

"W-where do you want me to h… hit you?"

"Anywhere! Anywhere you fancy!"

"O-okay. H-how abou-bout…"

The madman shook his head.

"No, no. Do not _tell_ me. I want _very_ much to be surprised."

Roy blinked, than nodded slowly.

"O-okay…"

This guy was crazy. He was _really_ crazy.

Oh God, why did this sort of shit have to happen to him?

He breathed deep, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why it was him who was so frightened when the lunatic in front of him was the one offering himself up for a beating.

"_Fuckin' masochist_." He thought woefully.

He'd heard stories, but seeing it play out was something else. It was… bizarre.

But he couldn't afford to think on it anymore.

This psycho was going to _kill_ him if he didn't lay in to him with a punch.

He could see it in his eyes. He could see the _insanity_.

This wasn't a bluff.

Roy's eyes moved about the bar, seeing everyone looking back, frozen in morbid fascination. No one dared make a move.

Oh, God…

It was now or never.

And so he did it.

His hand curled to a fist and, rearing it back, he slammed it with all his strength, against the Joker's jaw.

Inadvertently his eyes closed, and when they again opened, he found himself actually shocked, not to find the lunatic still standing.

He glanced down, met with the sight of the thin man crumpled on the floor, the back of his large hand held to his mouth.

He pulled it away, taking in the smeared blood over his white skin.

There was a wild grin on his lips.

"Heeee… Softly he laughed, pushing himself to his feet. "Not so very disappointing."

For a moment he regarded the taller man, a look of interest on his face.

"But not entirely satisfactory, either…"

There was a flash, an explosion of white, Roy feeling a fine mist lay over his face.

And only in the seconds to follow did he even realize the Joker had moved, his hand held out before him, open, his palm turned up.

"The pain is in the anticipation. And this, I promise, won't last long."

Roy blinked at him, unsure, and then realization dawned, his eyes shooting wide in panic.

But as the Joker had assured, he had little time to dwell on his fate, as searing agony gripped him and he collapsed, down to his knees, and then to his side. Blood began to escape from out his eyes, then nose and ears and mouth. His mind shut down in shock.

And then he was dead.

The madman stared closely at him a moment to follow, his head tilted in curiosity to the side.

And then he looked up, stepping over the fallen body, towards the card table.

Sweeping out his coat tales, he sat in the now empty chair.

The three remaining men stared aghast.

"Y-you s-said you w-weren't gonna k-kill him…" Frankie stammered, his voice shaking terribly.

"Oh, I never said that." The Joker answered, his voice cheery-sweet.

He reached forward, taking up all the sets of cards, forming them in to a deck.

He began to shuffle them with expert precisian and speed.

"Now boys, in celebration of your joining my team, I propose we play a game." He looked up finally, addressing each of them with his eyes. He smiled. "Joker's wild. I deal the deck."


	3. Falling In Line

**Chapter 3:**

The Joker stood from the table, fumbling absently with his cuff links before smoothing his hands over the sleeves of his suit jacket.

"Come along boys." He said, motioning for them to follow as he turned, beginning to walk away.

"D-don't you want the money you won?" Tony asked hesitantly.

The madman stopped, turning back towards the still seated group.

"Money?" He questioned, as though confused.

"Y-yeah. All th-this money." Tony pointed to the pile in the middle of the table. You won it, s-so it's yours."

The Joker's eyes dropped to the cash, and for a moment, he stared at it, silent. A smile spread over his lips which could only be described as warm.

"Oh, no." He said. "You boys keep it."

And then he again turned, striding forward.

The men only sat there, staring bemusedly.

"Come along!" He called once more, not looking back.

They scrambled, standing so quickly they nearly turned the table on to its side, grabbing up their money and hurrying after their newly, self-appointed leader.

By the time they burst through the bars front entrance, the Joker was already stepping with purpose down the street.

They struggled, having to jog to catch up with his absurdly long stride.

"It's just a short distance to our new home." The lunatic informed, continuing on.

The men said nothing, only glancing worriedly at one another as they fought to keep pace.

That "short distance" turned out to be five miles, and by the time they reached it, Matt, Toney and Frankie were completely winded, their sides cramped up from walking the distance more quickly then they were conditioned to.

They each leaned over, supporting themselves with their hands on their knees, breathing hard as the Joker opened a nondescript, metal door. The building was a tenement flat, though just to look at it, one would know immediately it had long since been abandoned. Its inside only reaffirmed that. It was gutted, most of the walls torn out, joining each apartment together to create one, giant space.

The Joker stepped easily inside, smiling.

"Very nice, hmm?" He asked, not bothering to turn and watch as the three men stumbled through the door, wanting desperately to collapse to the floor, forcing themselves to stay upright for fear of angering the clown.

"Y-yeah!" Matt chocked out between gasps for air. "R-real nice…"

"I think so." The Joker nodded.

And then, suddenly, he turned, clasping his hands together in front of him.

"Now…" He began. "I've already selected a room for myself. Up there." He pointed up and behind him, to a loose looking balcony which appeared as though it might once have been a hallway. Visible from where they stood was an open door, leading in to another space. "The rest of the place is yours to do with what you will."

The men stared back at him, their expressions still utterly confused.

The Joker grinned, and each of them felt the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end.

Without another word, the lunatic turned, moving swiftly up the stairs, crossing the balcony and stepping through the open door, closing it quietly behind.

The tension visibly lifted and the three men practically collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

"How in the… how in the hell does he _walk_ so fast and not get wasted?" Frankie asked, pressing a hand in to his side, trying to massage the cramp away.

"P-probly runnin' from the Bat…" Matt spit. "K-keeps him in good shape."

"Shut the _fuck_ up you guys!" Tony cut in. "He might hear you!"

Matt looked angrily at him.

"This is _your_ fault Tony. So _you_ shut up!"

"_My_ fault? How the heck is it _my_ fault?"

"You're the one who brought the psycho's name up! You're the one who got us talkin' about him!"

"Oh, and you think that's what caused him to just _walk_ in to Stewy's?" Tony's voice was incredulous.

"No!" Matt spit. "But it's what drew his fuckin' attention to us!"

"You don't know that man!"

"Like hell I don't. Whatever, I just hope you're happy. Even if the loon pays as good as you say, we'll all probly be dead by mornin'."

"No."

They froze as the Joker's voice drifted down from above.

Slowly their eyes rose to him, wide with abrupt fear as hastily they stood.

"No. That would be most… _inconvenient_." The madman went on.

He was leaning forward, between the framework, his hands gripping along either side of two wooden beams.

Suddenly he pushed back and made fast for the staircase, descending quickly.

He'd changed his clothes, now wearing a pair of dark green slacks, the material seeming to have a kind of sheen to it, and a royal blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leaving exposed his thin, white arms. From his pants waist hung suspender straps, his heeled dress shoes clicking sharply against the floor.

The thugs felt paralyzed as the lunatic stalked towards them.

The Joker seemed impossible.

His skin so starkly white it looked almost to glow, almost translucent. And with limbs that stretched on forever.

He was impressively tall, his lithe frame adding to the perception of his towering above you. And though Roy had had several inches on him, the Joker was infinitely more intimidating, his eyes sharp and cold, the irises colored unnaturally vivid.

The men shrank inadvertently back from him.

"Indeed your friend is correct." The madman began, stepping close. "I can promise you _great_ quantities of cash in return for your _undying_ loyalty." He smiled wide. "Alas, as of now, my funds have been _depleted_. An unfortunate result of having been locked up these past four months. But fear not, darlings, the problem is easily remedied."

"W-what are we gonna do?" Frankie dared to ask.

"Rob a bank, of course." The Joker laughed. "I'm sure you must know it. The big one, located in Gotham's Central Square."

The men's eyes went wide.

"But that place is crawlin' with security." Matt blurted. "I don't think anyone's even ever _tried_ robbin' it before."

"Well, there's a first time for everything, now isn't there Matt?" The Joker offered, moving his attention to his suspenders, pulling them gingerly up over his shoulders.

"Y-you got a plan Boss?" Tony finally spoke.

The two others glared at him, annoyed at his ready willingness to address the psychotic as their "boss".

"Generally speaking…" The Joker looked up. "Yes. But it doesn't require any great effort, you realize. The task is simple."

He began to move forward, and the thugs unconsciously stumbled backward, relief washing through them as the thin man walked by.

He stopped at a nearby desk, reaching down and pulling open one of its drawers, his hand disappearing inside.

"Look lads!" He exclaimed, turning around. "Walkie Talkies. Now don't tell me in your youth you never dreamed of owning such a device. All children do. Well, the fulfillment of that lifelong dream is upon you. These are _yours_." He took up two others from the drawer and began towards the men, holding them out.

They reached forward, taking the radios.

"You are to keep these on you _always_." The Joker informed. "If I radio you and you don't _pick up_…" He said flippantly, stepping within the men's personal space. He reached a long hand out, taking gentle hold of Frankie's chin, almost caressingly. He smiled down at him.

Without warning, his grip tightened and he violently jerked the frightened man forward, the smile going quickly from his face. For several, long seconds, he stared hard in to Frankie's eyes, his own suddenly, completely cruel.

And then, abruptly, he let go, stepping back.

"Hmm…" He smirked.

Frankie's hand shook noticeably as it went to where the madman had held him, rubbing the already sore skin.

"Our first job _together_…" The Joker went on as though nothing had happened. "is going to require more of _your_ sort. And so, what you three are going to do _now_ is, venture out and bring back to me your friends and associates. _Man power_ my dears. I expect you back my morning. And please, don't go entertaining foolish notions. If any of you desert our humble party, I'll not be _pleased_. Hmm?"

Frankie, Tony and Matt all looked nervously at one another, apparent discomfort across their features.

The Joker looked expectantly back, seeing the apprehension.

"Something wrong?" He asked.

"I-it's just…" Tony began, sounding mortified.

"It's just…?" The Joker tilted his head.

"A-all the guys we know have already hooked up wi-with…"

"Hooked up? You mean to say _every_ man you know is working for someone other then _myself_?" The madman pushed, his voice utterly unconcerned.

Tony nodded, swallowing heavily.

"Well go and get them."

"E-excuse me Sir?"

The Joker's mouth pulled in to a frown.

"You know…" He said. "Roy seemed fond of insisting I repeat myself too."

A moment passed before the thug was able to comprehend the threat, and when he did, he began to stammer stupidly.

"W-well y-you see S-Sir, i-it's kind of difficult b-because…"

The Joker stepped forward, so quickly the men had barely a chance to see him move, and in an instant, he had Toney by the hair, jerking his head painfully to the side.

"The only thing difficult is _you_." The lunatic seethed, and in one fluid motion, he'd grasped his other hand round the man's throat, beginning to squeeze down with vicious pressure.

Tony flailed, trying desperately to break free, but the Joker was demonically strong, his long, bony fingers pressing in unrelentingly.

Frankie and Matt felt frozen in horror, watching the scene, almost transfixed by the violence of it.

It was only when Tony had begun to gag harshly, the air to his lungs fully restricted, that they were snapped from it.

"S-Scarecrow!" Frankie stumbled. "T-they're workin' for the S-Scarecrow!"

Everything stopped, the Joker's head turning, his hand still holding to Tony's throat.

He looked hard at Frankie.

"The Scarecrow, you say?"

Frankie nodded quickly.

"T-that's the p-problem. W-we can't just w-walk in on him a-and take his guys."

A wide smile began to spread across the madman's lips and abruptly he let go his grip.

Tony fell immediately to the floor, coughing, gasping for breath as his hands came up to his already bruising throat.

The Joker turned from them, beginning to giggle.

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny." He spoke, seemingly to himself. "How very advantageous this all is."

The men were all staring at him as he continued to laugh to himself like some child, their expressions a mix of both fear and confusion.

Suddenly he turned back to them, his arms spreading wide.

"You boys know where our dear Jonathan is staying, I presume?"

"Y-yeah Boss." Matt nodded, ready to comply now. "He's at the old furniture store, down near Fairfax. Place's been empty a few months now."

The Joker's smile broadened.

"Good." He said. "What say all of you we pay our straw filled friend a visit, hmm?"

/

The place was unassuming, the surrounding area totally quiet, no noise coming from within.

The Joker smiled.

"_Clever thing you are Johnny_." He thought.

Matt, Frankie and Tony stood behind him, a bundle of nerves.

The Scarecrow meant fear toxin. A chemical so bad it literally would scare you to death. Give you a goddamned heart attack.

None of them were too thrilled about being here, or about the Joker's seeming _total _lack of concern. He hadn't prepared at all. Just swept up a body length trench coat from the back of a chair, threw it on, and flew from the abandoned tenement, expecting without instruction for his new employees to follow.

They didn't need to be told this time, just praying they wouldn't have to walk again, Fairfax being a good six miles from their current location. That hope had come to fruition as the lunatic made way to the nearest car he could find, jumping in the drivers seat, having it hotwired within seconds, apparently eager to reach the Scarecrows hideout.

But this was a dangerous enterprise, crashing uninvited in to the refuge of another complete maniac, one who was known for sporting a weapon which more then earned its name.

"What are we gonna d-do Boss?" Tony asked. "I don't think Scarecrow's gonna be too happy 'bout us d-droppin' in like this."

The Joker only chuckled.

"Just follow me." He answered, and without further word, he moved forward.

Predictably, the front entrance was locked, but the lunatic made fast work of that, picking the thing with ease, humming joyfully to himself.

He took hold the knob then, turning it, pushing the door open as he stood straight.

He strode in without hesitation.

His men stood back a moment, watching dismayed as the clown ventured further in to the building, seemingly ill-prepared, expecting them to follow the same.

They were dead either way, each of them thought.

Frankie was the first to move forward, and the other two fell in behind, their hearts beating loudly in their chests.

The place was completely dark, and the Joker had disappeared ahead, his black coat and dark hair enveloped in the pitch of the space.

There was no sound from anywhere, save for the click of their shoes across the dust ridden floor.

"Oh Jeeze…" Matt breathed quietly, his uncertainty getting the better of him.

Abruptly, a soft rustle was heard, followed quickly by the sound of metal cutting through air, and then a horrendous gargling erupted, a desperate spitting and choking.

The lights went up suddenly, washing the room in white.

The Joker's men closed their eyes against it, and when they again opened, they saw the madman ahead of them, his left arm reached straight out, to the side, he looking in the same direction.

The three's gaze moved to where their new employer stared, and there they saw another man, his mouth hung open in shock, his eyes covered by some kind of high tech goggles. One of his arms reached out also, towards the Joker, and from his fingers dangled a handgun, its barrel lowered, the weapon ready to drop. His other hand gripped tightly to his throat, a deep red color seeping through his fingers. He was gargling and spitting terribly.

It was then they took note of the others, standing all around, many men they knew, hurriedly tearing the same kind of goggles from their own heads.

There was a loud clang as the first man's gun dropped, followed quickly by the man himself, collapsing dead to the floor as he bleed profusely out, what looked like a gleaming playing card buried grotesquely in his neck.

"Stop him!" Someone screamed. "Keep him away from me!"

One man tore a pistol from his holster, aiming it directly at the Joker. But with what seemed an impossibly quick movement, the lunatic stepped forward, out of nowhere a razor edged playing card appearing in his hand, and he threw it with vicious precision, the thing burying itself in the man's hand.

He dropped the automatic with an anguished scream.

And then there was a sudden rush, all of the men surrounding them heading straight for the Joker.

"Make yourself useful boys." The Joker called back. "Keep them where they fall."

Frankie, Matt and Tony watched in stunned amazement then as the lunatic advanced forward, going to meet each man who attacked him, making quick work of each.

The first came at him with a hatchet, and as he swung down with the weapon, the Joker swiftly caught hold of his arm, at the elbow, forcing it to him the rest of the way before gripping tight to the man's hand. A disgusting crunch was heard as he snapped the assailant's fingers back. Instantly the man fell to the floor, screaming, and the Joker continued on.

Another came at him, wielding a club.

The clown ducked below the first swing, coming up and burying a knee deep in the man's groin. And that was another one down.

Another's feet he swept out from under them, laying in to their stomach with a hard kick, before he was rushed by another thug holding a long blade.

The Joker side stepped the attack before reaching out, latching to the man's wrist with one hand and squeezing down. Almost instantly the attacker's grip loosened, the knife dropping free. The lunatic caught it midair, and then he pulled the man's arm straight. A moment later and he'd stabbed the knife in to the thugs forced up palm.

A fourth one dropped.

It took a moment for the Joker's men to realize what he'd meant when he ordered them to keep everyone where they dropped, but soon it dawned and they rushed up behind, their guns drawn, training them on the disposed of henches.

It was bizarre to see, how very proficient the Joker was at fighting. Neither of the three had ever realized it about the clown. Not so strange, since all they'd ever heard were stories of him getting beat down by the Bat, most usually in brutal fashion. Either that or taking it from the guards and orderlies at Arkham, or at his own urging, like he'd done with Roy.

Each of the men had seen the Bat in action, with their own eyes, and watching the Joker work, it dawned suddenly on them how very much he _fought_ like the Bat. He was mimicking to great _effect_ the Bat's style.

And, they supposed, that too wasn't so very strange, if they'd heard right about the innumerable and intimate encounters the two had had with one another.

He wasn't as quick as the vigilante, or as powerful. But who really cared? It was clear not a one of them would ever actually want to tussle with the psychopath.

The Joker made quick work of the last remaining hireling, and the Scarecrow was in plain view now, leaning back against a table, obviously panicked.

The Joker smiled at him as the last man fell.

"Hello Johnny." He said in that soft voice of his.

"G-get away from me Joker!" Crane spit. "You stay back!"

But the Joker wasn't listening, continuing forward, towards him.

The Scarecrow scrambled backwards, climbing clumsily on to the desk.

"I-I'm warning you Joker!" He cried. "Stay away from me!"

"But Jonathan, my dear, I wish only to speak with you." The white faced man answered, his tone disarmingly kind.

Crane shook his head violently back and forth.

"Stay back!"

The Joker advanced further, until finally, he was within a foot of the former psychiatrist.

Jonathan screamed out, terrified, and without thinking, he threw his arms forward, pressing down the trigger to his canister of fear toxin, attached to the underside of his wrist.

A fine mist released, directly in to the Joker's face.

For a moment, everything went still, Frankie, Matt and Tony freezing, their eyes wide as saucers as they watched, waiting for the inevitable reaction of unrestrained, horrified screaming which followed anyone's exposure to the fear inducing chemical, that in turn followed by a crash to the floor and uncontrollable convulsions.

The Scarecrow watched with equally bated breath, his own eyes wide behind his mask, hesitant hope rising in his chest as the Joker's lids closed against the spray, his face scrunching up.

Jonathan had modified the toxin several times since he'd foolishly joined up with the Joker, all those years ago, and he prayed to God its more potent form would now have an affect.

He allowed himself the possibility it might as the lunatic stopped dead, his eyes still clamped tightly shut.

Seconds seems to stretch for minutes, the tension nearly unbearable.

And then the Joker's mouth opened, his chest heaving.

"Ahhh…" He twitched slightly, and the hope within Jonathan grew, a small smile slipping inadvertently across his lips.

It came crashing down in an instant.

"CHOO!" The Joker sneezed violently, his head shaking.

His eyes opened, and he stared intently at the Scarecrow.

"Johnny!" He exclaimed. "Now we've been through this before, I'm quite certain. You _know_ that little concoction of yours doesn't work on me! How _silly_ you are!"

Crane, once more horrified, fell backwards, trying desperately to push away.

"N-no! No! Get away! Leave me alone you bastard!"

The Joker's head cocked slightly to the side, a look of confusion passing over his features.

"Why the hostility Scarechum? Are we not _friends_?"

"You're no friend of mine you freak! Get the hell back!"

The tall man frowned sadly.

"Oh, dear. Johnny, I'm _hurt_. I really am." The Joker lamented, pressing a hand flat against his chest. "After all we've _been_ through together? You would speak so foul of me?"

"You _disgust _me." Jonathan spit, for the briefest of moments his anger overtaking his fear.

There was immediate regret as he watched all amusement drain from the Joker's face.

"Do I now?" The lunatic asked, taking a step forward.

The Scarecrow could see the sudden ill-intent in the man's eyes, and he once more pushed away, nearly falling from the table as he reached its edge.

"J-just get out!" He nearly shouted. "Leave! You aren't wanted here!"

The Joker closed the distance between them, burying his hands in the material of Crane's shirt, lifting him bodily from the table. He turned with the smaller man, bringing him up higher, moving him towards a wall and slamming him hard against it.

Jonathan cried out with the force of the blow, gripping tight to the Joker's white wrists.

The madman's eyes burned bright with anger, his mouth pulled in to a deep frown.

"The _pretension_ of you is _astounding_." He hissed, his voice low. "The _master _of fear. You have in you the capacity for such impertinence? When the very emotion _radiates_ from you now?"

His grip tightened and he leaned in close.

"You cannot claim _mastery _over a thing which controls your every action, Jonathan. _Denial_ grips your soul."

And suddenly, the anger melted from the lunatic's face, a smile spreading wide across his lips.

Slowly he began to lower the Scarecrow back to the floor.

"Though with you darling, it's more grandiose delusion then blatant hypocrisy."

He uncurled his fingers from Crane's shirt and softly placed his hands on to the shorter man's shoulders, still smiling.

"It's something you really must believe for yourself, lest you fall completely to those nagging insecurities raging in the back of your mind."

"… What do you want?" Jonathan managed to breath.

The Joker stared down at him, his mouth spreading open to reveal his straight, white teeth, his gums contrasting sharply with their bizarre, black coloring.

"I'm taking your men…" He said simply, his bony hands moving up, beginning to finger the coarse material of the Scarecrow's mask. Abruptly he gripped it, pulling the thing from the former psychiatrists head.

Jonathan's eyes shot wide in panic and he tried reaching for the sack, but the Joker only held it high, pressing a hand against the Scarecrow's chest and pushing him back, pinning him to the wall.

For several seconds, the lunatic gazed intently at the mask, his eyes narrowing at the sight. And then he looked back to Crane, frowning.

"You shouldn't wear this." He said, tossing it aside. "Your face is handsome."

Confusion passed over the Scarecrow's features, his brow furrowing.

"You'll intimidate more effectively without it." The Joker continued. "To a great many, good looks are a kind of threat." Again he smiled. "Why do you think as a boy you found yourself the target of bullies? It wasn't _only_ your superior intellect dear."

Jonathan stared up at the lunatic, bewilderment clear in his eyes. He looked at once as though he were in pain, as though he were hurt.

Suddenly he cast his gaze away, bringing his hands up and pushing weakly against the Joker's chest.

"Go away." He said, his voice quiet. "Just take the men and leave."

The taller man looked silently back a moment.

And then he stepped back.

"My sincere gratitude Jonathan. Your generosity knows no bounds." He gave a small bow.

The Scarecrow looked angrily at him.

"You would have taken them anyway!" He spit.

"True." The Joker replied. "But as the saying goes, it's the thought that counts. And I thought to thank you for your cooperation. Forced though it might have been." He laughed lightly. "Really, in this regard, it is you who should thank me. But please, don't trouble yourself. It's something entirely unneeded."

Crane now looked completely beside himself with frustration.

"Just LEAVE!" His yelled, his anger again momentarily taking over his fear.

The Joker shrugged.

"As you wish." He said, turning towards the exit.

"Up boys. Follow me." He instructed, striding through the still downed men.

Tony, Matt and Frankie motioned with their guns to do as the Joker said.

The Scarecrow's former thugs looked both astonished and afraid, rising with difficulty to their feet after a long moment of hesitation.

Jonathan had already turned away, taking up his discarded mask, stalking out of the room, disappearing through a door near the back and slamming it shut behind him.

Matt, Tony and Frankie began after the Joker, him already having stepped outside. The other men stood about, seemingly confused.

"Let's _go_!" Frankie barked.

The thugs started, as if snapped from some trance, shuffling as quickly as they could, following behind.


	4. Reflection

**Chapter 4:**

The front doors to the First National Bank & Trust, located right in the heart of Gotham's downtown area, flew wide with a loud bang, and striding through them, easily and with a smile on his face, was the Joker, followed close behind by a group of some fifteen men, all wielding guns, several carrying large duffle bags.

Light poured in after them, the mid-afternoon sun.

And the men began to shout, ordering that everyone get down, flat on their stomachs with their arms stretched out.

The Joker himself said nothing, making quickly for the counter, lined with tellers.

From the periphery of his vision, he saw an overweight, middle aged security guard going for his gun, and the Joker was fast to extract his own, from the inside pocket of his overcoat, pointing lazily at the fumbling man and firing.

The bullet ripped through the guard's skull, fragments of bone and brain exploding outwards, blood spraying thick and chaotic against the wall behind.

Screams erupted throughout the place, and whoever hadn't yet complied with the commands of his men soon dropped, their hands coming up over their heads in a sorry attempt to protect themselves.

"Remove their weapons." The Joker called out, never breaking his stride. "And make certain you weed out any who might be trying to position themselves for an ambush. You three… with me."

He pointed at Toney, Matt and Frankie, gesturing for them to follow.

They complied, scrambling after him as the other men fanned out, doing as instructed, taking from the six remaining guards their pistols and shoving them to the floor.

None had attempted to hide, to be heroic.

Any such notions died the instant they'd seen the man behind this.

Reaching the counter, Matt, Toney and Frankie standing close behind, the Joker leaned over, on to it, his smile widening to a grin, his elbows rested along its top.

The tellers had all fallen back, pressing themselves against the wall, their eyes wide in horror.

A woman stood directly across from him, and the Joker assumed his most charming demeanor.

"Good afternoon, young lady…" He started.

She visibly shook, her eyes trained on him, filled with disbelief, as though what she were seeing couldn't possibly be real.

"You'll forgive this rather… _abrupt _interruption, dedicated as I'm sure your work _is_. But you see, me and my…" he chuckled lightly. "_colleagues_ would very much appreciate if you could direct us towards where it is you keep your banks funds. I assume, of course, you know the security codes to allow you access."

The woman stood mute, staring blankly, too terrified to speak.

The Joker sighed, sliding his eyes away a moment, taking in the rest of the tellers, all staring transfixed upon him, before looking again to the girl.

She was young. No older then 24, he guessed. The band along her ring finger didn't at all escape him, nor the excess fat along her arms, waist and chin, hanging from an otherwise thin frame. Pregnancy weight.

His eyes flicked down to her name tag.

Sara.

"Sara, doll…" He began, leaning closer, laying his gun along the counter for her to see, his hand rested laxly over its handle. "How very devastating might it be, for husband and child to today find themselves without the companionship of their wife and mother?" He smiled warmly. "Though the baby might be too _young_ to realize anything… amiss. A depressing thought, indeed, the thought of the child adapting without difficulty to your absence. More troubling still, the notion of you never getting to see the child grow, to accomplish the dreams you envisioned."

The woman's eyes had filled quickly with tears, her lip quivering.

"O-oh G-God please… please d-don't k-kill me…"

"You know the codes?" He asked, ignoring her pleas.

She nodded weakly.

"Good." He replied. "Then dear, the vaults, show us where they are."

He straightened, eyeing her intently.

And again she nodded, the tears streaming down her face.

"Go with her." He said, glancing at his men, and they didn't hesitate, jumping over the counter, grabbing the woman by the arm and shoving her from behind.

"And you…" the Joker looked to another teller, two windows down. "valiant effort, going for the alarm."

The man looked at him, clear shock passing over his features.

"Oh, you thought I hadn't seen?" The Joker smiled, tilting his head to the side. "Hmm… So, you must be thinking, in the _least_ you've forced upon me a hasty retreat, since, after all, the police will soon arrive to… _save_ all of you." He laughed lightly. "But doubtless, you're now regretting the decision, since you've been found out, and fear my indignation at such an affronting effort to ruin my well laid plans." He grinned, walking towards the petrified teller. "Worry not though, little man, for your actions will yield no results. I had my boys up top cut the alarm. The police don't know we're here. They won't know until well after we've left."

He stared down at the man a long moment, the man staring back in complete disbelief. And then the Joker shrugged, turning from him.

"Still, I find the move classless, indeed, the definition of cowardly. If you'd have gone for it in bold defiance, before my very eyes, I might have held for you a modicum of respect." He turned back towards him. "But you didn't. You wouldn't have tried it at all if you'd have thought I would see. You do only what you're sure you can get away with, without having to face any sort of consequence." He shook his head, tsking. "And there's nothing which more _disgusts _me."

Abruptly, and without warning, the Joker lifted his gun, pointing directly at the teller and firing, shooting him dead.

People screamed and cried as the sound of gunfire echoed off the walls of the large space, and the Joker's men snapped at them, telling them to shut up, a product more of their own discomfiture at the seemingly absolute volatility of their new employer.

The Joker himself didn't seem at all bothered by the sounds of distress, walking to and froe between the scattered bodies and thugs, his eyes roaming upwards, taking in the buildings architecture.

His men watched him, nervous.

The Joker had informed them, shortly after bringing them to his hideout, that they would be robbing one of the largest banks in Gotham, and that they would be doing so the very next day. Beyond that, he hadn't explained much. He'd provided them with bags to hold the money, and told another to go out and find a van, one big enough to hold the lot of them (that man now sat outside the bank, engine on, awaiting their return), and instructing two others on how to disable the alarm, located on the banks roof.

How the Joker had known how to do such a thing, none of them knew, and none of them asked.

They could only hope he was correct.

The rest of the "plan", if one could call it such, was simply to charge in.

He'd said to them not to worry, that his mere presence would be enough to dissuade any heroics.

And so far, he'd been right, save for the one guard who'd actually tried pulling his weapon.

But now that man lay dead, the back of his head blown out.

And nobody else seemed much interested in ending up the same.

It would be only a few minutes longer before Frankie, Matt and Toney emerged from the back, duffle bags hung over their shoulders, filled to the seams.

"We got the cash boss." Matt huffed, his voice mildly frantic.

And the Joker grinned.

"Very good boys." He said, turning towards the exit. "Then let us take our leave."

He started towards the doors, his men backing out behind him, guns still trained on the people.

Reaching it, he turned.

"Adieu kiddies…" he called. "It's been great fun!"

The entire affair had taken no more then ten minutes.

/

That night, the Joker found himself walking the streets, alone.

The men he'd left back at the abandoned apartment complex, with the money, trusting they'd be in the least intelligent enough not to take it and run.

A pointless endeavor, and besides, he was giving the majority of it to them as is, considering he needed only a small amount to acquire the things he needed.

The air was muggy, a moderate wind blowing up the back of his coat tails, the body length garment flapping wildly behind him.

There was no one around, no one visible, in any event, though he knew they were there. The homeless; beggars who risked the harsh and unforgiving streets of Gotham, too lazy to get a job, or too addled by the disease of alcoholism to hold one down.

He'd killed his fair share of them, only harassed a few others. Though never did he actively seek them out.

The fun was in shattering a person's delusions, tearing from them their feelings of safety and invincibility. Those people who'd somehow convinced themselves that no, _true_ ill would ever befall them.

The homeless, the derelicts, most especially those in this city, were already aware, if only on a superficial level, of how very cruel life actually was, and how they weren't at all beyond that cruelties touch.

Though, even still, the shock in their eyes when they were faced with their end was no less apparent.

Even _they_ could never quite grasp the notion, quite accept it as real.

The wind picked up, blowing his hair in one direction and back, in to his eyes.

It was longer then he usually kept it.

He kept glancing up at the sky, the stars invisible behind a thick layer of clouds and smog.

He hoped each time he did, he might see that familiar, washed out light, illuminated best against such dark cover, flashing the indistinct shape of wings and pointed ears.

Though he knew anyway the Bat would be out, searching for _him_.

It was still a pleasant reminder, like a promise kept, their own secrete agreement. To always make certain the other was first and foremost.

Though nothing was _ever _certain. That was something he knew well, and something most others only realized when their carefully woven plans fell to pieces. Even then, they would fool themselves in to believing they had control, that they could _fix _anything.

They couldn't.

And the abruptness of it all going against how they thought it would, or should, was what usually most discouraged them, in the end. Even when it was a slow build towards destruction, implosion, explosion… they never realized it until the process had been well under way.

And yet, the Joker knew also he was always going to keep that promise, no matter the circumstance. He wad dedicated, completely.

There would be nothing to dissuade him.

Batman understood the world as he did, the _universe_; though he lived day to day with the weight of denial.

He refused to accept it. Tried desperately to change what he already knew to be the reality of it all.

He was foolish, the Joker thought. Allowing idealistic hope to dictate his actions.

But still, he _knew_ the truth, and that was more then he could say for anyone of the others. Blind as they were.

At times, though, the Batman would falter, forget their pact, try to forget _him_.

He didn't like to be reminded of the inevitability of chaos, of destruction… of _death_, the things the Joker proved to him through his presence alone.

Sometimes the Batman would choose to ignore him, in some vain and useless hope that it might change things, make them somehow different.

And the Joker would have to help him remember then…

There was no escaping this.

/

_I know it's short. Sorry about that guys. But anyway, reviews! Please leave them. I want to hear from you. _

_And thanks to everyone who's thus far done so._


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